job gone south
by cedricsowner
Summary: Title pretty much says it all. The team after a job gone south. Rather sad stuff. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Money can open doors. Especially Ilsa's kind of money. In this particular case it had very quietly opened the doors of St. Francis Memorial hospital for Chance, whose injuries this time needed more skillful attention than Guerrero or one of their usual medical contacts could provide. In fact, the doctor called for emergency surgery the second he laid eyes on Chance's gaping stomach wound. Compared to that the burns on his shoulder were a relatively small problem.

Ilsa and Winston followed the gurney with Chance in close pursuit (Ilsa had held Chance's uninjured hand all the way to hospital) and would surely stay with him till one of the medical personnel send them to the waiting room. Ames, on the other hand, let herself fall behind on purpose.

Where was Guerrero?

He must have disappeared in the turmoil that followed Chance's rescue from the burning car.

Ames closed her eyes and concentrated on the last time she had seen him today. A vivid image flashed up in her mind: Guerrero dragging Chance away from the flames of the wrecked vehicle.

Why wasn't he here now, with them, awaiting the doctor's verdict?

The answer was very simple and very disquieting – he must have gotten hurt himself. Paranoid as he was he probably hadn't even considered checking into St. Francis, too.

That didn't mean he didn't need help.

But where to find him? Chance most likely knew where his friend resided, but the rest of them? Guerrero had never even so much as mentioned in what district he lived. The thought of him being alone now, injured and in pain, made Ames' stomach clench. He had lost his glasses in the desperate struggle for Chance's life and would surely have trouble patching himself up…

… wait …

_His glasses!_

After he had lost his old pair in a meat grinder a couple of months ago, he had bought two new ones and kept one exemplar in his locker at the office, for future emergencies. The office was not too far by foot from where the ambush had happened and it was stocked with all sorts of sophisticated first aid equipment.

Ames rushed to her car, not stopping to notify the others. She would call them later, they had their hands full with worrying about Chance right now anyway.

… … …

Ames found Guerrero in Chance's bathroom, messing with his wounds. Both his hands showed deep cuts and burns. He could hardly hold the gauze to clean them.

"Let me do that." Ames reached for pincers and gauze. It spoke volumes of Guerrero's state that he let her take them from him. To Ames' great dismay, however, her treatment didn't seem to make any difference. He grew paler and paler.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?", she asked, trying in vain to read the answer in his face.

"I'm fine. Now go back to St. Francis and check on Chance", he growled.

He probably would have succeeded with sending her away, hadn't Ames by coincidence caught sight of the dark red spot in his groin area.

"You've got to take off your pants ", she told him, shocked at the realization of how grave an injury had to be to produce such a big spot.

"No way!", Guerrero snarled.

"This is definitely not the moment to be shy." Ames reached for his belt.

"Maybe I should better do that", a familiar voice behind them said. Winston was leaning in the doorframe.

"How is Chance?", Guerrero immediately demanded to know.

"Still in surgery. Ilsa will call as soon as something new comes up." The look on his face betrayed how hard it had been for him to walk away from the hospital. "Get Guerrero a glass of water, Ames, will you?"

She caught the hint and headed down to the kitchen area. When she returned, Winston awaited her on the stairs that led up to Chance's living quarters. He had bad news.

"This is way past my skills. He needs a real doctor, soon."

"So, back to St. Francis?"

They both knew that wouldn't happen without a fight.

At this very moment the elevator signaled and a stranger stepped out of it. Both Winston and Ames had their guns out and trained at him in no time. The young man immediately raised his hands.

"Mrs. Pucci said this might happen", he uttered. "She also said someone here might need medical help. Are you Mr. Guerrero?", he addressed Winston. "I'm a resident physician at St. Francis Memorial."

Winston led him to Guerrero.

Just then, the office's telephone rang. Ames went to answer it. "This is La Rosalia." She recognized the name of the elegant high-end restaurant in Russian Hill. "Mrs. Ilsa Pucci wants you to order in from our menu whatever you like. Should you claim not to be hungry, she permitted us to choose a delivery for you."

… … …

Eating Tagliatelle al Limone in silence by sleeping Guerrero's side, they waited for the next phone call to come in. So far Ilsa had only sent a short text message saying that things looked positive.

Neither Ames nor Winston addressed the elephant in the room: Once out of surgery, Chance would, most likely sooner than later, inquire about their client.

Guerrero had only been able to drag one person away from the fire in time.


End file.
